


Close Call

by galpalaven



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Dossier: Archangel, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Mass Effect 2, No Shepard without Vakarian, Reunions, basically why was shepard standing in the meeting room instead of waiting outside the med bay???, mostly the aftermath of that, thats her friend wtf?, wtf i forgot those tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-10-31 07:06:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10894245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galpalaven/pseuds/galpalaven
Summary: She’d been so close tolosinghim—hell, if he were anything but a turian, she probablywouldhave lost him.





	Close Call

**Author's Note:**

> A reworked reunion scene for Mass Effect 2, basically, because no way was Shepard mentally stable enough at the beginning of 2 to react so casually to Garrus almost getting his head blown off.

Shepard can’t remember how to breathe.

Or, maybe she can, but her heart’s forgotten how to keep time. It’s too fast in her ears, making her head spin if she focuses on it too much. She can’t decide between pacing and sitting at the table in the mess, waiting for any news to come out of the med bay. It’s been _hours_ , and she’s _exhausted_ —physically, mentally, and emotionally. Her aching back begs for the comfort of her bed, and her pounding head echoes this, but she can’t bring herself to go anywhere. 

She runs a hand through her too-long hair, winces at the memories that try to spike up at the feeling of it through her fingers as she pulls it down and works out the tangles. Breathes in for four counts, out for eight, and tries to pretend like she doesn’t notice half of the crew hovering anxiously around the room, unsure what to make of her. Someone sets a bowl of soup in front of her on the table, and when she looks up, the cook—what was his name? Gardner?—gives her a sympathetic smile.

“You should eat something.”

It’s something out of a can, bland and tasteless, but she does as she’s told because she remembers she hasn’t eaten since breakfast and her headache eases a bit. 

Maybe if she just…laid her head down on the table for a bit…

 

* * *

 

They were after someone named _Archangel_ , and Sun wasn’t sure whether someone with such an apparent flare for the dramatic was someone they wanted on their team. Even Aria, with all her self-proclaimed glory— _“I am Omega.”_ —would still probably have been a better choice. 

Not that Aria seemed like a team player at all, but still. 

She probably _should_ have gone after the professor first, but the way Aria had described the situation with Archangel, it sounded like the poor guy didn’t have much time left. Plus, she did have to admit, the fact that he got three entire merc companies to join forces to take him down _was_ impressive. The description she’d been given of him made him sound like some sort of masked vigilante—like the characters in those comic books her dad used to have. Mostly on the side of the downtrodden, but morally grey enough to justify murder and violence to themselves.

Now that she thought about it, that kind of sounded like…well, _her_.

At any rate, she thought as she watched Sergeant Cathka drop from the thing she’d stabbed into his back, maybe he’d be willing to help her take down Cerberus once they finished with the Collectors. After all, according to one of the merc leaders, they were looking to meet a turian, and if there was anyone she could convince to join forces against a human terrorist organization hellbent on securing ‘human dominance’ across the galaxy, it’d probably be a turian. (The _most_ likely to join would have probably been a batarian, but they’d just as soon slit her throat right along side Cerberus’s than actually help her.)

Getting across the bridge was almost fun, with the way the mercs all looked at them when they realized she and Zaeed and Jacob _weren’t_ on their side. And then there was also the fact that, for some reason, she kept getting hit by stray concussive rounds—had actually already been hit once back when they were still trying to figure out who in the hell _Cathka_ was. She had the feeling Archangel either knew she was coming, or recognized her face somehow, even with the glowing implants just beneath the skin that hadn’t even _begun_ to heal.

Whatever she’d been expecting when they reached Archangel’s hideout, what she found definitely wasn’t it.

She almost didn’t recognize him at first, unable to actually process what she was seeing until he’d already sat on one of the boxes of ammo, propping his feet up and sighing.

“ _Shepard_. I thought you were dead.”

Since waking up in that Cerberus lab, Shepard had been having definite issues with her emotions—not in front of Miranda or anyone important, of course, but she was pretty sure EDI was keeping Kelly updated on the number of times Sun cried herself to sleep, if the way Kelly kept asking if she could help meant anything. It was strange, for the most part. Everything felt like it’d been amped up about 17 notches, and thinking about how her friends must have felt after her death was almost certain to bring on the waterworks no matter what.

That being said, Shepard wasn’t entirely sure she was even who she thought she was. Maybe it was the scars—and her suspicious lack of old, faded scars, replaced by untouched skin and subdermal implants that glowed ominously. Maybe it was the way Miranda and Jacob kept insisting that she was in charge, calling her _Commander_ Shepard at any opportunity they could, like they thought she’d forgotten or something. 

Whatever the case, she’d been worried from the get-go that she wasn’t _real_ —just a VI or a clone, maybe, programmed to think she was Commander Shepard with most of her memories and that was it.

_Now,_ though…

Sun only just managed to keep from throwing herself across the room and into his arms, throwing her hands out to the side and stumbling a few steps forward with a gasp of, “ _Garrus_.” 

She stopped still a few feet away, flushing at the way he flicked his mandibles at her in a tired, knowing grin. Her heart raced in her chest, and her ears burned as she bit her lip, squeezing her hands into fists and dropping them back to her side. Cerberus could recreate memories, she was sure, but this feeling? There was no way they’d have been able to artificially recreate Shepard’s frankly _embarrassing_ crush on the turian who’d saved her life more times now than she could count. No one else had known—not even Liara, as far as she knew, and she’d been inside her _head_.

“What are you _doing_ here?” she asked, hoping to maintain a little bit of her dignity.

“Just keeping my skills sharp,” he said, trying to make light of everything. The exhaustion in his voice was clear. “A little target practice.”

“…You okay?” She’d never seen him so weary.

He shrugged. “Been better, but it sure is good to see a friendly face. Killing mercs is _hard_ work. Especially on my own.”

Shaking her head, Sun smiled a little and asked, “So when exactly did you start calling yourself _Archangel_?”

He grinned at her again. “It’s just a name the locals gave me. For… all my _good deeds_.” Coughing out a laugh, he added, “I don’t mind it, but please… it’s, uh, just _Garrus_ to you.”

“How’d you end up out here on Omega?” she asked softly, tilting her head when he dropped his gaze.

“I got fed up with all the bureaucratic crap on the Citadel. Figured I could do more good on my own.” 

That…made sense. She remembered clearly how upset he’d been with all the red tape, back in the day. Still, she’d never imagined he’d go rogue.

He sighed. “At least it’s not hard to find criminals here. All I have to do is point my gun and shoot.”

Shepard snorted. “Yeah, you nailed me good a couple of times, by the way,” she said, rolling her neck just to make her point.

Garrus smirked, but still refused to look at her. “Concussive rounds only. No harm done.” His eyes flicked up to meet hers. “Didn’t want the mercs getting suspicious.”

“Right,” she drawled, smiling to show she was just kidding. “How’d you even know it was me, anyway?”

“It’s only been two years, Shepard. Do you really think I’ve forgotten what you look like?”

“Well, no, but if I’m supposed to be dead how’d you know I wasn’t like…some kind of clone or something?” 

He shrugged again. “Dunno. I guess I figured I’d rather take my chances than kill you a second time for good.” He paused, then huffed out a weak laugh and said, “If I wanted to do more than take your shields down, I’d have done it.” He tilted his head, considering something, and then grinned again. “Besides, you were taking your sweet time. I needed to get you moving.”

Sun laughed at that, a little too loudly, shaking her head. “I’m guessing the point and shoot method is part of how you managed to piss off every major merc organization in the Terminus Systems?”

“It wasn’t _that_ easy. Even with my aim, I _really_ had to work at it.” He sniffed. “I am amazed that they teamed up to fight me, though. They must _really_ hate me.”

“Apparently,” she replied dryly, “but I’m here now. Getting here wasn’t bad, but I don’t think getting out will be as easy.”

“No, but—“

 

* * *

 

“Shepard. _Shepard_.”

Sun wakes with a startled gasp, sitting upright and clutching at her throat. There are hands on her shoulders, warm and somehow familiar, squeezing gently as she struggles to figure out where the hell she is, or what’s happening. As she registers the mess hall, and the emptiness of it, Dr. Chakwas’s voice is in her ear again. 

“You waited out here for Garrus, right?”

_Garrus_. Shepard turns to look up at the doctor, nods wordlessly because the knot in her throat is too big for sound. She braces herself, expecting the worst, only to have the good doctor smile down at her tiredly.

“We did everything we could. He took a bad hit, but I think he’ll make a full recovery.” Sun lets out half a grateful sob at that, shoulders slumping in relief. “He’s a tough one, I’ll give him that. Stubborn, too.”

Clearing her throat, Sun’s eyes land on the door to the med bay as she asks tentatively, “Can I…?”

Chakwas nods. “Of course, Commander. I have a feeling you’d just sleep out here if I said no, anyway.”

Shepard is on her feet almost immediately, mumbling a quick, “Thanks, Doctor,” as she tries not to sprint into the med bay.

He’s lying on the cot farthest from the windows, farthest from the doors, head propped up awkwardly both to accommodate his fringe and to keep his face turned to the left so he’s not lying on the injured side of his face. Sun can’t feel her fingers as she crosses the room to his side, grabbing the doctor’s chair and dragging it behind her to sit on as she tries not to let her eyes linger on the splotch of deep blue on the cloth bandage across his mandible. 

It’s quiet in the med bay—Sun’s never noticed, not having spent much time in here beyond getting patched up and sent on her way—but where it should be uncomfortable, it’s just soothing. Chakwas has turned down the lights for the night, and only the dim floor lighting is left, easing Shepard’s headache in the same way the quiet does. Garrus’s deep, slow breathing breaks the silence a little, and she thinks to herself that she’s never really heard him breathe before. Gasps, groans of pain, yes, but she’s never been able to sit in silence with him long enough to hear him breathe like this.

It’s peaceful, and the ice around her heart melts a little as she slides her hand under his where it rests at his side. 

He’s probably on all sorts of narcotics, so she doesn’t worry so much about being caught as she spreads her fingers out under his, matching them up and marveling at how much bigger his hand is than hers. She tucks her fingers together to mimic his three—index to middle, ring to pinkie—and lines them up, sighing at the dull warmth radiating from his palm. His fingers extend a good inch or so past hers, and his talons themselves are at least two inches long. This isn’t the first time she’s seen turian hands ungloved, but it’s the first time she’s really seen any part of his skin that wasn’t on his neck. His hand is the same fawn color of the hide on his neck, and the little scale-like plates on his knuckles are that same silver color as the plates on his face. His palm itself is surprisingly soft against hers, and she has to fight to keep from lifting his hand to her lips and kissing it.

Sun’s eyes begin to burn as she listens to him sigh in his sleep, and she sniffles as quietly as she can as a few tears tumble down her cheeks. She’d been so close to _losing_ him—hell, if he were anything but a turian, she probably _would_ have lost him. 

What must it have been like, when he heard about the Normandy? It must have been— _awful_ , she’s sure. Shepard’s done her fair share of mourning in her life, but this has been…

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles into the dark room. “I’m sorry I left you. All of you.” Her hand tightens around his and a few more tears slip down her cheeks, guilt rising up in her throat like bile. “You must have been… _so_ mad at me. You must have hated me—I would have." She pauses for another long moment, watching her thumb as it runs across his knuckles. She glances up at his face, at the bloodied bandage, and frowns, angry with herself. "And what's the first thing I do when I come back to you? Get you shot in the face with a rocket? I’m—fuck, I just—you have to make it through this, Garrus. Please. I need—I need you. I—“

She stops talking abruptly when she realizes Garrus is awake—or, looking at her, at least. He doesn’t seem to be quite all there, probably still too drugged to truly focus, but she crumbles anyway, a sob tearing out of her throat against her will. She couldn’t bear it if he hated her, if he blamed her, if he changed his mind and wanted to…

She starts to ramble without knowing where she’s going or what she means, and she keeps pausing and starting sentences over. Something about apologies and broken promises. Her face feels hot and her vision is blurred with tears as she tries to explain herself. She tries to explain Cerberus, to explain what happened to the first Normandy, to tell him that she _never_ meant to hurt him like that—to hurt any of them like that, but then Garrus does something that stops her blabbering in its tracks.

Gently, he untangles his hand from hers, lifting it lazily to brush the backs of his knuckles across her cheek, wiping away the tears there. He lingers, watching his hand against her skin, before he drops it heavily back to the cot. He may be still out of it, but his good mandible twitches in the ghost of a smile as he says, “You should rest, Shepard.”

Laughing weakly, she rubs at her eyes and shakes her head. “Would you mind if I stayed here?”

He hums, a quiet, comforting rumble in his chest, and flips his hand back over in invitation. He’s already falling back to sleep just as the word, “Please,” slips softly from his mouth.

Smiling and feeling just a little bit warmer around the cheeks than usual, Sun settles in for the night, hand still in his, head resting on the pillow of her arms. She’ll have one hell of a crick in the neck in the morning, but that’s alright. The only thing that matters is Garrus is going to be okay, and the Normandy is starting to feel like home once again.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed and, as always, you can find out more about Shepard and myself on my [tumblr](http://galpalaven.tumblr.com/tagged/sun-shepard)!


End file.
